Monday, June 3, 2019

Night 4 of a short story

Tonight is the fourth 'stanza' of the fantasy short story, The Dragon and The Princess. Things are beginning to change in Whitehall.



     The hours have passed and I sit alone and still my guards have not followed their normal routines. From below I am greeted with nothing but silence. The child has uttered not a sound since after the dawn. Perhaps the warmth I have surrounded her with has lulled her to sleep, though a temporary respite it will be. If I reach out to her I fear I will wake her. Surely sleep is what she needs now. I fear my captors will soon have need of her, for what purpose I can only guess. She is not but half a decade old.
     I close my eyes at the sound of metal; the distinct tone of keys as they sing, their bodies slamming against each other. I hear them slide around my jailor’s ring as he selects the proper one. This morning they are not for me but my new companion below. I hear the guard’s voice break the silence.
     “Up with ya. The King wants ya.”
     I hear her voice as it meanders up the stone. She is afraid. Though faint I hear her sobs. They are disheartening. Long has it been since I have felt anguish for another. For all these years my emotions have been only anger, rage and contempt for my captors and pity for my own foolishness. I have suppressed my own emotions, held them deep within to keep my rage within its own prison. I fear the tears that fall below me are but a wellspring to my own sorrow.
     The footsteps now retreat, more than what came up the steps to the tower. Her steps are small, their sound distinct from the guards. Even with my acute sense I lose her footfalls among the men. What is to become of her I wonder? What value could she bring to the King? Surely she has no military knowledge to use against Jeshion Hall.
     I tire, the night’s passage long as I realize I have not slept in days, my usual routine disrupted by my new companion’s arrival. The coolness of the chamber draws on me. I lean forward within my cramped prison letting my wings extend as far as they may. It is never easy. Each time I am released to do their bidding my body recoils at the stiffness. I am but a caged animal, my eyes falling slowly as my wings wrap around my form. Slumber calls.


     The sound of keys again calls to me. I snort unconsciously as I recoil from my nap. The light from above, my single outlook to the world still shows a gray sky. Is this the same day or another that has come and gone? Long ago I stopped keeping count. I deemed it pointless.
I hear the lock tumblers fall within their constraints. The key lets the latch fall and the lock gives way. The light from behind the casts them in silhouette as the door swings inward to my chamber. They are one less than normally enters my room. It is not my meal time, though still I do not know what time it is. Surely they will ...
     “His Majesty summons you.” I inhale deeply causing my guards to step back. “Come.”
     Still, they do not trust me after all these years. I have made it a point to show what little resolve I still possess towards his servants. Whether the master of Whitehall knows the truth, only he knows. Above I hear the grinding of the wooden beams retreating as they are drug apart, the chains bolted to them taught as they wrap around an unseen wheel. As I look up the thick timbers which are the only exit to my prison cell open to the gray skies. In the beginning of my ordeal I was forced to watch as the mechanism was constructed. With his hold over my prize I was powerless to do otherwise.
     I crane my neck upward as I spread my wings using them to help claw my way to the opening. My chamber is too narrow for me to spread my wings and soar to the clouds as dragons were meant to do. Each step upward tears at my skin leaving one more reminder of my imprisonment. At last I reach the summit of my tower and feel the first fresh breath of earthly wind against my face. It is a heavenly embrace.
     I wrap my claws about the stone of the turret righting myself for the first time in weeks. With each day below I lose a small piece of myself, a small piece of what it means to be a dragon. But when the heavens open up to me I can pretend to be free. I spread my heavy wings letting them stretch from horizon to horizon. My muscles rebel as I push against the western winds that ride up the castle walls. One mighty throw of my weight against the winds lifts me toward the sky. With each stroke I am one step away from my prison. I long to return to the heavens where once I reigned supreme. 

Stay tuned for night 5...

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